How shall I give thee what was never mine? I have no voice, no hope beneath the sky; All sound and silence are a melody Played on my heartstrings by some touch of thine. Thine is the glory of my brave design, The ardour, the compulsion, and the cry; Mine but the hoarseness and the unbidden sigh Muffling the silver music of the line. If aught of rapture from the feeble string Escape and swell and tremble as I sing, Think what the might of loveliness must be, That from the dust could raise a living thing, And from the cold heart of a doubter wring This book of verses, writ in love of thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FADED VIOLET by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SATIRE: 1 by AULUS PERSIUS FLACCUS BIRTHDAY LINES TO AGNES BAILLIE by JOANNA BAILLIE VACANT STALL by ELIZABETH WILCOX BEASLEY PSALM 41. BEATUS QUI INTELLIGIT by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |